Azalea (11 page)

It hadn't been like him at all, for he had
always prided himself on his coolness in uncomfortable situations.
His grandmother, not to mention his few friends, would have been
amazed had they witnessed his rudeness to Miss Clayton.

Azalea. That's what Lady Beauforth had
called her. Again that vague disquiet crept over him, though his
lips curved in a smile of their own volition. Such a pretty name.
So unusual. He was certain he'd heard it before...

"What? What is it, Christian?" His
grandmother's voice recalled him to the present.

Christian shook his head. "Nothing,
Grandmother."

There was no point dwelling
on it now. Most likely, Lady Beauforth had mentioned the girl's
name when she'd told him her cousin would be coming to live with
her. He didn't recall her doing so, but it seemed a reasonable
explanation. If he
had
known someone of that name before, it would come to him in
time.

He swallowed his punch and stood to ring the
bell. "I may as well ride over the grounds with the steward before
changing out of my travelling clothes," he said. "There is no point
wasting what little daylight remains."

Lady Glaedon watched him go, shaking her
head with a mixture of sadness and fondness. She had noticed the
preoccupation in her grandson's manner, obvious to one who had
raised him as her own from the time his mother had died, shortly
after his eighth birthday. She hoped that all would work out well
for him. The last few years had not been easy for Christian.

They had not been easy for the dowager,
either. She had lost her son and, she had then believed, her
favourite grandson to a shipwreck. Then, only four years later, her
other grandson, the new Earl, had been lulled in the war in
America, in which Herschel had insisted on participating despite
his family responsibilities.

Herschel's death had been the final straw.
Lady Glaedon had become a virtual recluse, refusing to see anyone
but family. Then Christian's miraculous return had restored hope
and meaning to her life.

The two of them had always been close,
probably closer than would have been possible were she truly his
mother. After Christian's arrival back in England, she had
reentered Society to some small extent, more for his sake than for
her own.

She had been saddened by the singular change
in Christian, once so fun loving and easygoing. His experiences,
which he refused to discuss with her, had somehow turned him into a
taciturn, cynical man. She had become determined to do everything
in her power to ensure his happiness, and thereby her own.

To that end, she had tried her hand at some
subtle matchmaking. There were certainly plenty of young ladies to
choose from in London. Lord Glaedon's romantic good looks, combined
with the air of mystery surrounding his sudden reappearance on the
scene, caused feminine hearts to flutter wherever he went.

He had never shown the slightest interest in
any of them, however. And then, without warning, he had offered for
Miss Beauforth. Lady Glaedon had hoped that he had fallen in love
at long last, but plainly that was not the case.

Sighing, she picked up her embroidery. If
anyone deserved happiness, Christian did, but she feared he was far
from finding it.

* * *

The next two weeks were relatively happy
ones for Azalea. Since Lord Glaedon had gone from London, she'd
been able to push her problems to the back of her mind for the
present.

She had the pleasure of seeing Millie
comfortably accepted by the staff at Curzon Street as an under
kitchen maid. Mrs. Swann, meanwhile, had received a letter from her
sister in Yorkshire, inviting her for an extended visit and Azalea
convinced her to accept. It had become obvious that Mrs. Swann was
unhappy under the supercilious eye of Mrs. Straite and that it was
only a matter of time before a confrontation occurred between the
two women.

An even greater concern, however was
Azalea's fear that Swannee might complicate the situation with Lord
Glaedon. Though the housekeeper had never been told of the
marriage, Azalea had often suspected that her old friend knew the
truth. There was no knowing what she might do or say if she learned
that Christian was still alive. It would be best if Mrs. Swann were
out of London until Azalea had a chance to settle the matter for
herself.

Though it was long past the autumn Little
Season, Azalea made a few acquaintances among the fashionable
callers at Lady Beauforth's home. Her wardrobe had grown to an
adequate size for a winter in London, although she realized much
more would be needed for the spring Season. A dozen bargain gowns
had been purchased for refurbishing, and two new outfits were being
made up: a riding habit of rich green-and-gold velvet and a ball
gown in a pale green satin that Azalea had found irresistible.

Her relationship with her cousins was
improving as well. Lady Beauforth had warmed towards her until she
no longer felt herself a charity case in the household. And though
Marilyn still persisted in holding her at a distance, she, too,
showed some signs of thawing.

The two young ladies were in each other's
company most mornings. While shopping, receiving and returning
calls, Azalea had ample opportunity to observe Miss Beauforth's
character. She came to the conclusion that while Marilyn was
spoiled, certainly, and had done little to improve her mind, she
was not actually malicious or stupid. Azalea hoped that in time
they might truly become friends.

One blustery afternoon in early December,
she sat in the library writing a letter to a young lady in
Williamsburg who had extracted a promise from her to correspond
upon her arrival in England. A two-month separation, combined with
the stiff formality of the English ladies she had met, caused
Azalea to remember Miss Severson with more fondness than she'd ever
felt towards her in Virginia. As she was closing her surprisingly
affectionate missive, Lady Beauforth bustled into the room, in
obvious high spirits.

"Ah,
there
you are, my dear! I have the
most
splendid
news! I have just received an invitation to a Christmas ball
at Lady Queesley's on Thursday. She is leaving for the country and
wishes to give a farewell entertainment. No doubt she feels the
need to fortify herself for the dull weeks ahead. I must say I find
London, even thin of company, far preferable to rusticating over
the holidays. But that is neither here nor there. I vow, I
had
quite
given
up being able to present you to Society before spring, but this
will be a
marvellous
opportunity! This will be your debut, in a manner of
speaking, so we must choose your ensemble with care."

This speech left Azalea nearly as breathless
as it did Lady Beauforth, but she recovered quickly. She was
pleased at the news, partly because of the qualms she had felt over
the expensive ball gown she had purchased with the Season still
some months away. And, of course, what female could suppress a
flutter of pleasure at the prospect of her first ball?

She turned to Lady Beauforth with a smile,
her letter forgotten. "Oh, Cousin Alice, how delightful! Are you
certain I am invited? I do not recollect ever having met Lady
Queesley."

"Yes, she enclosed cards
for each of us. Indeed, it would be strange if you were
not
invited, as it is
generally known that you are staying with us. And Lady Queesley
never does anything shabbily, I assure you," said Lady Beauforth in
a tone that quite settled the matter.

"In that case, dear cousin, I can look
forward to the ball with all my heart," said Azalea cheerfully.
"Will my new green satin be appropriate, do you think?"

"The very thing, my dear!
We'll have to see about finding you some matching flowers for your
hair. But I must get back upstairs to Marilyn —I promised her I
would only be a moment. Oh, I
do
hope dear Glaedon returns in time for this
ball…." So saying, Lady Beauforth departed as quickly as she had
come, her words trailing behind her.

Azalea's pleasure dimmed
abruptly at this reminder of the very real problems she still
faced. If Lord Glaedon
were
at the ball, she would have to make some attempt
to solve them, though as yet she hadn't a clue how she was to do
so. Frowning, she turned back to her letter.

* * *

As she dressed for the ball a few nights
later, Azalea's thoughts kept straying to Lord Glaedon and the
dilemma he represented. He was back in Town, she knew, for Lady
Beauforth had announced that tidbit at nuncheon. How her cousin
could have discovered the fact so quickly Azalea did not know. Lady
Beauforth apparently had her sources.

Still, she refused to let that problem, or
the one concerning Lord Kayce, whom she had all but forgotten,
completely destroy her enjoyment of the evening ahead. This was to
be her first ball, after all. Surely everything would work itself
out in time.

Junie put the finishing touches to her hair
and invited Azalea to view the result in the long glass on the
wardrobe door. "You'll be the belle of the ball, Miss Azalea,
that's certain," she announced proudly.

Looking into the mirror, Azalea could almost
agree with her. Surely, the exquisitely gowned and coiffed young
lady gazing back at her bore no resemblance to the rough provincial
she had been a few weeks earlier.

Pale green satin gleamed richly through the
overskirt of matching net. The waist was high, just under her full
breasts, with a low neckline —so low, in fact, that she had
protested to Madame Clarisse, the modiste, only to be assured that
she would see many more revealing gowns, and that this one was in
the best possible taste for a young girl making her comeout.

Her white throat was adorned by a single
strand of small but perfectly matched pearls that had been her
mother's, and white flowers wreathed her hair. The colour of the
gown intensified the green of her eyes and the deep red of her
hair, just as its lines emphasized the best points of her figure.
She felt that the overall effect was pleasing and that her
appearance, at least, would hardly cause her cousins
embarrassment.

She was able to judge their reactions a few
moments later when she nervously descended the long staircase. Lady
Beauforth's face lit up immediately upon perceiving Azalea above.
Her pleased smile quickly allayed any doubts about her
approval.

Marilyn's feelings were more difficult to
fathom, but Azalea thought she could construe her slight frown and
the widening of her blue eyes as an oblique sort of compliment.
Marilyn herself was an absolute vision of loveliness in ethereal
white.

Azalea had to wonder again how her cousin
could be jealous of her—and, more importantly, how she could
possibly win Lord Glaedon away from such a beauty. She suppressed a
small sigh as they slipped into their wraps and out the door to the
waiting carriage.

"What a pleasant evening," she remarked to
her cousins, in an attempt to ignore the trembling in her
midsection that seemed to increase as they neared Lady Queesley's
mansion. "In Virginia, the December winds are quite bitter,
compared to this."

"But I had understood the colonies —er, the
United States —to be quite warm. I'm certain Mr. Symes, who was in
Charleston several years ago, said that the summers there were
unbearably hot, and plagued by insects," said Marilyn, sitting up a
little straighter and looking directly at her cousin for the first
time since leaving Curzon Street.

Azalea had once or twice before noticed her
cousin's interest in her chance comments about America. "Yes,
that's true as well," she agreed. "I haven't spent a summer here,
of course, but I understand that your climate is not subject to the
extremes we experience in the New World. Perhaps the surrounding
ocean acts as a buffer to the elements here." She was about to
expand on this theory, which Reverend Marston, one of her numerous
tutors, had once put forth, but she sensed she was losing the
attention of her audience.

"In any event," she went on, "in Virginia we
have both extremes. Summer and winter both can be rather unpleasant
at times, but spring and autumn are generally delightful, with
colours as vivid as the temperatures are pleasant. And we only
rarely see fog there."

She continued discussing Virginia's seasons,
with more and more frequent questions from Marilyn and an
occasional comment from Lady Beauforth. In this manner, the time
passed pleasantly for Azalea as the coach inched forward in the
long queue before Lady Queesley's doorstep. Finally it was their
turn to alight and Azalea's anxiety returned suddenly and in full
force.

As if reading her mind, Lady Beauforth
gently patted her shoulder and said, "Chin up, my dear. One's first
ball is exciting, but can be a bit terrifying also. Just pretend
you've done it all before, and don't forget to breathe!"

Lady Queesley greeted Lady Beauforth warmly,
exchanging the latest news of some mutual acquaintances, before
turning to the two younger ladies.

"Why, Marilyn, I declare you become more
beautiful by the day," the Countess exclaimed, in a fair imitation
of Lady Beauforth's style. Azalea had noticed that this affected,
gushing manner was the rule rather the exception among the older
ladies of the ton.

"Your mother must be very proud. It's no
wonder you managed to snare the pick of the Season." This last was
directed at Lady Beauforth with a knowing smile and the ghost of a
wink. "But pray present me to your little American relative! Your
niece, did you say?" Lady Queesley's overpowering smile was now
turned on Azalea.